


from the ashes of the dawn

by Yanara126



Series: Watcher Favaen, an Eothas Priestess [7]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Sad, Suffering, Tagged to be safe, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanara126/pseuds/Yanara126
Summary: Eothas between the Godhammer and the beginning of Deadfire.-
Relationships: Eothas & Maerwald, Eothas & The Watcher (Pillars of Eternity), Eothas & Waidwen (Pillars of Eternity), Eothas/The Watcher (Pillars of Eternity)
Series: Watcher Favaen, an Eothas Priestess [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690846
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	from the ashes of the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my need for overly dramatic writing and the legit good song "Ashes of the Dawn" by Dragon force. It fits Eothas so well, I've wanted to write something like this for a while. I'll put a link at the end for anyone who wants to listen to it. I hope I managed to capture the mood somewhat, at least towards the end.  
> Hope you enjoy it! :D  
> I'm always open to feedback by the way, so if you didn't feel free to tell me why so I can learn from it.^^

For the first time in his long existence Eothas truly felt pain. Not the emotional pain of loss, doubt, regret and all those other feelings that had piled up over the millennia, though he certainly had enough of that as well, but true, physical pain. Agony running through every fibre of what was left of his once vast being. There was no reality for him but pain, no truth but torment and misery, no world around him but anguish. No past that had put him in this state, no future to live for, only this moment of pure suffering as he felt his own limitations for the very first time. Parts of him were still breaking loose of the whole, fizzling, and burning away in embers and sparks, allowing no other thoughts to manifest. The agony was all-encompassing.

He might have screamed, might have made the world tremble with his own agony, might have shattered reality with wails of unimaginable suffering, or he might have been completely silent as he burnt apart. The sound of the divine wasn’t something easily heard by mortal ears, and none of his siblings dwelled on this plane who might have heard him. So who could truly say if he ever made a sound? Certainly not Eothas himself.

For a time that was all he was. A tormented being slowly, painfully healing from the disastrous destruction that had been inflicted upon him. Soon he became aware that he wasn’t whole, most likely would never be again. There were holes in his essence, some small, some large, but all painfully noticeable in their absence. The edges of essence were healing, the soft warmth he knew himself as replacing the burning blaze eating away at him, but what remained was scorched, damaged still and brittle, like it would crumble away again at the lightest touch. And the agony remained.

After a little more time, he regained enough of his mind to have a peripheral awareness of his surroundings. It wasn’t enough for an active train of thought, he still didn’t know how he came to be here, but at least now there was a here. Adra, that much he could recognize in his pain riddled mind. There were flashes of lucidity, where he could feel just how much adra it was… and that it was dead. He was alone in his suffering. The warmth of sentience that accompanied every soul, the love of which had been an ingrained part of him since the moment he was born, was missing, not a spark remaining in his vicinity. And even through the persisting agony, he was lonely.

But not for long. At some point later, a light entered his limited awareness. Small and weak, hardly more than a spark in comparison to him, even as damaged as he was. Kith, his mind supplied. _Oh_ , he thought. _I am again._ His thoughts were a small thing, quiet and subtle, much like the little light now before him, but he lunged at both of them anyway. _How ironic._ The whisper drifted vaguely through his essence. Untouched and ignored as he basked in the presence of another. The pain was still there. The threads of agony still ran deep through his being, convening somewhere in a tight knot deep, deep within him that he had no interest of touching, but now there was something else, someone else, someone that could give him a purpose to be again. And the agony receded.

The light moved a little, not far, but far enough that Eothas had to work and strain to widen his awareness again so as to not lose sight of it. He found another light that way, even smaller than the other one, and somehow strange, but he was just happy to have more life around him. Life was his purpose, life was the reason he existed. Life would be the reason he healed again. Drawing comfort from the presence of the souls, he gathered what little consciousness he had and pushed through the pain still smouldering through his essence. He followed the threads of pain down, always down, deeper into himself, down to its, and his, core. He found the tight knot, the reason why it still hurt so much, even as he was healing, willing himself to heal.

He pulled at it. Threw all his strength into unravelling it, into solving this, so he could go back to the light, to being the light every part of him told him he was meant to be.

The knot gave. But it didn’t make the pain go away. It only released more of it. One second to the next all the things the knot had tied down and away burnt back through him with vengeance. The memories, the feelings, the agony that didn’t come from the bomb that had torn him apart, but from the one that had torn him away from his child. From his friend. The failure burnt stronger than the fire, sent new tendrils of pain through him that ripped him apart once again as he desperately tore through himself, heedless of the wounds he clawed back open in the process, looking for something he knew he wouldn’t find. He was alone. He had failed. Had abandoned the one he had promised to never leave to suffer on his own for Eothas’ mistakes. And the agony returned.

For a while Eothas pulled back into himself. It hurt too much to face the world he had created himself. The physical pain still burnt, the wounds to his essence still blazed with his sister’s fire, but the guilt over his failure to protect the one he had promised himself to was smothering the flames in ice that burnt just as strongly, drowned out all else. If this was how he fared after the blast, torn to pieces and still battling with the ongoing flames, he had little hope for the mortal soul he had bonded himself to. Even if he hadn’t been immediately incinerated in the blast, Berath would not care enough to save him from being crushed by the weight of the wheel.

Just like Eothas was being crushed by his regret. He had been foolish to underestimate Magran’s determination, the strength of her fear and ire. He had known that the mortal body would not survive the blast, had even expected some damage to himself, but the true force of the explosion had been a surprise to him. It had violently torn them apart and Eothas had not been able to grab onto Waidwen’s soul to pull him away quickly enough. Away from the true destruction of self Magran had deemed appropriate for her wayward brother. _Waidwen._ He didn’t want to think the name, didn’t want to be reminded of the moment his subconscious had actively banished in an attempt to protect him from the torment of knowledge, but forgetting and denying it would’ve been a disservice to both himself and the man who had followed him to his very end. Eothas wasn’t Ondra. He refused to be. No matter how much it hurt to see their last moment again and again.

Now that he was again, now that he knew again, he remembered that moment. He remembered feeling the energy crash into and through them, remembered his own panic and the realization that he had miscalculated. And most of all, he remembered being too slow. He could feel himself reaching out, grabbing onto Waidwen’s soul as tightly as he could, even as the blast tore him away. He hadn’t let go, never that, but the blast had ripped him apart, cleaving whole chunks of essence out of him and shattering their connection. There had only been a second for his helplessness and both their terror to sink in, until the fires had burnt away all consciousness.

He could vaguely recall grasping for something, anything to anchor himself, which is how he must have landed here. Wherever here really was. Choking on his pain and grief he hadn’t bothered to inspect his surroundings. But the fires were dying down, all that could heal was doing so, and the wheel was still turning. No matter how he drowned himself in remorse, he couldn’t save Waidwen anymore. All he could do now was to make sure the sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He would heal and plan and remember. And the first part of that would be finding out where he was and who that light was that kept returning.

His essence was still raw and his senses tender, so he bided his time in what he could now vaguely recognize as an adra statute. It was of enormous size and age, possibly older even than him. It was a masterwork of kith ingenuity and under different circumstances he might have been thrilled at the opportunity to explore such a monument, but as it was, he had to save his energy and so he contented himself with waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long, for the light returned soon, as it had ever since its first appearance. When it neared again, he tentatively reached out, brushing over the soul as faintly as he could. He did not want to be detected just yet, he doubted Magran would let him slip a second time. (And perhaps he was afraid. Afraid of touching another one like he had _him.)_

 _Maerwald. Watcher. Caed Nua. Ambitions. Help. Rebuild._ Impressions trickled into his mind, slowly but forcefully, shining brightly and loudly and so familiar that Eothas flinched back like they had burnt him again.

This wasn’t Waidwen. He knew that. Was painfully aware of that. Maerwald wasn’t even all that similar to him, but it was enough to make the pain he had carefully packed away rear its ugly head again, ripping into wounds that had only just begun to heal. He didn’t reach out again.

Maerwald must’ve noticed something, for he came even more often now, just sitting around, working on something or other, but always with open senses. To Eothas it almost seemed like an invitation, though why it would be one he didn’t understand. Maerwald came again and again, and even without actively reaching out Eothas caught glimpses of the world above through Maerwald’s eyes. Glimpses of a slowly rising castle, of people coming with questions and leaving with answers, of spirits too caught up in their own pain to find the Wheel on their own being led there by a guiding hand. And Eothas felt himself give in to the draw of life. He didn’t touch again, but he watched more closely, distracted himself from the pain with taking what Maerwald seemed to offer so freely.

Maerwald wasn’t Waidwen. He was older, less scarred, surer of himself, broader in stature, merrier in spirit. But he was also kind, ambitious, driven, aware of the world’s cruelty and determined to change it, and Eothas allowed himself the comfort of that. He stayed hidden away, licking his wounds in silence, but didn’t look away.

Time passed like this. He liked the little bits of stories Maerwald brought him, until he didn’t. Until they were no longer about rising castles and helping hands. Until they started being about suffering, about fleeing people and those that were too slow to do so, of people slaughtered for saying his name. He started hearing them again too. He was healed enough that he could hear and comprehend their calls for him again. He almost wished he couldn’t. It was no longer only Waidwen and his soldiers’ that he’d damned, but also those who never committed any crime but to ask for his aid. He heard their calls for help, for rescue, for answers at least, and he knew he couldn’t give them anything. He could hear but not act, still confined and bound to the vessel he’d fled to. A safe haven and a prison.

Maerwald helped where he could. He quelled conflicts, smuggled people away, and laid to rest those he couldn’t, but it wasn’t enough. Maerwald grew tired and weary, and Eothas could only watch in silence. They both held up. Until they didn’t. Something broke in Maerwald, an awakening that split his soul so thoroughly that he couldn’t contain it. He shut down, drew back, away from the world, away from Eothas, who was still shackled down by helplessness.

The castle fell again, Maerwald suffered, and Eothas wanted to rip himself back open if only it would help. The purges, the hollowborn, nothing was as he’d wanted. His one, thin silver lining, the people questioned. He’d sown a seed of doubt, but still it rang hollow with how much it’d cost. Even without Maerwald he could see now, was forced to observe the tragedies in Woedica’s name. He was certain his sister didn’t know of his survival, but still it felt like her personal punishment for him, for his hubris of attempting to change.

Waidwen’s Legacy they called the hollow children. He abhorred the name as much as the occurrence itself. Waidwen had not wanted this, would’ve torn the land apart to stop it. Still, it wasn’t completely inaccurate, though not for the reason the people thought. It was their legacy because they hadn’t prevented it. Because Eothas hadn’t prevented it. The name was a constant reminder of his failure.

A failure he would have to correct with all the power he could muster. The more time went by, the more people died with his name on their lips, the longer he watched Maerwald succumb to himself, the more certain he became of that. Telling them, showing them, wouldn’t be enough. Waidwen had believed him because Waidwen had already doubted the “truth”, there was no guarantee everyone else would. He had set the world on fire and had given up control of it. He deserved the flames, but the others didn’t. Waidwen hadn’t. Next time… next time he would make sure that none could deny him, not kith and not his siblings. Next time-

But now wasn’t next time. He was in no shape to do much of anything, though he had already healed considerably since he became conscious again. His essence was still spotty, the holes not closed yet, and he had no way accomplish the plan that was growing in his mind. Not yet.

So Eothas bottled up all his pain and frustration and concentrated on what was before him, namely Maerwald. He couldn’t reverse the awakening even if he wanted to, he couldn’t end his suffering, but he could at least curb it.

Where once Maerwald had noticed and offered a guiding hand to the thing that had barely been more than a spectre, he now didn’t even flinch when a god touched his soul.

It burnt in the back of Eothas’ mind, like so many things did these days, but when Maerwald’s ravings became too much, when his body needed rest all too badly and his soul wouldn’t give him the peace, Eothas helped him, gently pushed his soul with all its splinters down into sleep, like he’d done so many times before for Waidwen.

Maerwald stayed close for the rest of his life. Perhaps something in his rattled consciousness still recognized that something helpful was here, perhaps he simply fled as far away from others as his broken body could take him, but he stayed.

His end, or rather the one to cause it, came without Eothas’ noticing. He only noticed her when Maerwald did, and for longs years he would question why it’d had taken him so long. She was hardly subtle after all, none of his children were. She may not shine quite as literally as those that kith called godlike, but her soul was marked far more than theirs. It called to him, shimmering with his own essence threading through hers, mending wounds from millennia past. Some stitches were torn open, bleeding again and smudged. For a moment Eothas forgot where he was, too focused on these injuries she hadn’t carried before the last time he’d seen her. He wanted to reach out, smooth over these ridges again, fill the gaps like he’d done once before. The smudging-

She killed Maerwald. Not out of malice, he knew her, and knew that, but it still jarred him. Another life lost as he could only observe. (And somewhere, deep down where no one would see it, he was glad it hadn’t been hers. He did not want to lose another one of his children. Not after Emblyn. Not after Waidwen.) He consoled himself with the pledge to help Maerwald at least now, to not let him wander around lost and disoriented.

But once again she surprised him. Hesitatingly she reached out with an awareness she hadn’t possessed before either. She took Maerwald like he had done for so many others and led him to the wheel herself. For the first time Eothas truly wondered what he’d missed.

She didn’t stay long and in a way it was a blessing, though it hurt to see her leave again. He wasn’t sure he could’ve stopped himself from reaching out for long. He was left alone again, unsettled and grieving now also for the only company he’d had in the last years.

And then she returned. And she left. Again, and again she left and returned, and the castle rose again. Everything that had fallen into disrepair when Maerwald had learnt too much about himself was slowly repaired. But the worst thing… the worst thing was that she put his name on it. She gifted the chapel to him, crafted a statue for him and crowned it, all with words of thanks on her lips as she suffered through injuries he had not healed well enough.

He hated himself for how thankful he was.

She always came to the chapel when she was in Caed Nua. She would come at dawn and the at sunset, hold a sermon she thought no one heard and talked to him. Asked him questions he had no answers to and told him of memories he already knew. He knew she didn’t sleep enough, felt the exhaustion as if it were his own, and perhaps it was.

Every time he reached out, gently soothed her to sleep when she sat before his statue, he told himself it was fine, she wouldn’t notice him, would just attribute it to the familiar scenery. Every time the farmer came, carefully picked her up and cradled her to his chest to carry her to bed, he told himself it was fine, he wasn’t aching at the doubtful looks the man threw the candles, he wasn’t reminded of another farmer he had disappointed.

One day she came back whole. The threads and layers of his own essence that had held her together more seemed like adornments now, ornaments worn with pride but not out of necessity anymore. She came back with a blessing from Hylea and spread it all over the land. He could feel the stream of souls returning to their intended place, neatly fitting where they had always been meant to be.

Two Millennia he’d been alive now, had seen countless civilizations, spoken countless languages, and still he had no words for how proud he was. And how sad that once again one of his children had outgrown his guidance.

From then on, she stayed. Other people came and went, including some of her companions. The keep and the lands around it filled, his name found its way back to the Dyrwood, without contempt or fear. For a while he was truly glad.

But the longer this went on, the more people came, the better he healed, the more aware he became of what he would have to do. What his dear child made possible for him without even knowing. How much he would have to hurt her and others to ensure his siblings wouldn’t ever again.

He waited five more years. For fives year he justified that he still needed time to heal. After five years was the 20th anniversary of Waidwen’s sacrifice. After five years he had talked to Iovara, who had thanked him for saving her sister, even after being locked away for eternity for doing the right thing. After five years he could no longer hide from his responsibility.

It was dawn, most were still asleep, Favaen was up in the chapel talking to him as she always was. For the first time in 20 years he answered.

It wasn’t a verbal answer. Words wouldn’t have been enough for what he had already done to her and what he still would. Instead he reached out with his whole being, stretched towards her and enveloped her soul with his own, drenching her in all the warmth and affection he could muster as he held onto her, like he’d last done before she had begun this life. He could feel her shock and ecstasy, the excitement and love, and broke inside. For her. For Waidwen. For everyone who would be.

 _I am so sorry._ He couldn’t leave her without any words, couldn’t do this to her without any apology, no matter no small and insignificant in the grand scheme. He didn’t leave her time for confusion and instead _yanked_ with all his might, hoping it would at least spare her the pain Waidwen had suffered. Her soul gave and he didn’t look back, tucked her in as deeply as he could, away from the distress and fear and terror he was about to cause and continued on with his mission, not giving himself any time to regret what he had to do.

He pulled the souls he needed from her people to move the body he’d so conveniently found and pushed away the knowledge that her last feelings in this life had been betrayal and horror, pushed away the thought of his broken promise to Iovara, pushed away the heart wrenching certainty that he had lead another one of his children to their doom for his own ambitions.

This was necessary, and it would be the last time. For any of them.

Caed Nua crumbled that day, obliterated by the absolute determination of a god rising from his own ashes, whose conviction to do right and despair about doing so could end the world as surely as save it. Whose attempt at saving a love and himself more pain lead to so much more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Eothas, you glorious bastard. I love you. But I also want to see you suffer. Also, now that I've made his relationship with Waidwen even sadder, I guess I should write a reunion fic at some point as well. We'll see when I do that. Unfortunately I suck at drawing, so I can't really draw the picture I have in my head and will instead attempt to write the scene at some point. But later. For now, have this actually really good song for you! If you like metal of course. I've found metal and specifically dragonforce very helpful for writing Eothas because they're both just so damn dramatic.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFeBkHJUZDg&ab_channel=DragonForceVEVO  
> Hope you liked it and maybe consider leaving a comment. I'm always thankful for feedback!^^


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